This morning I worked the Host stand, wearing "nice" clothes and seating people. All part of the process I've staved off for years, with pointy sticks and a cornered wild thing's fury - No! NO! I don't WANNABEAWAITER! scratch! Slash! foam through gritted teeth. Go AWAY! The process, of turning me into the waiter everyone has always said I should be. Could be. Would be great as.

The reason I have yet to double over and die at work as of late is Nat. That she will be here in two days. That I have something to look forward to, to drive me through double after double after double. I've been working six day weeks for weeks now, having just Mondays to sleep in, work out, pay bills, read, write, go to the movies, socialize.

Between shifts today I got to watch the first three innings of Game 1 of the NLDS, Braves vs. Astros. I knew it would be on at work, knew Johnny B. -who bet me 30 bucks on the 'Stros for the series- would be managing. I came in tomahawk blazing. Set it up on the big screen, had a shot of Jagy, and got to work.

If you could call it that. Maybe eight tables all night, in the whole joint. A lot of loopiness, DayDate stickers on people's backs, kickboxing, beers upstairs. The Braves lost 9-3.

Then, bussing one of the eight tables, I found a small red baseball bat someone had left behind to cheer me up. It turned into homerun derby with cellophane balls in the back parking lot. Smaller foil ball centers, just like baseballs. The wall across the lot is covered in Ivy, like Wrigley. And the magic of baseball is that even in a restaurant parking lot, with a dirty apron on, in the middle of a bussing shift, half drunk and tired, after my Braves lost a playoff game; I still felt big, like Sammy Sosa if only for a second, whenever I would really lay into a ball of Saran Wrap and watch it soar over the wall of Ivy. Baseball.

I didn't feel like I was working all night. I talked with Katie and Allison upstairs all night, for so long sometimes, I forgot I was on the clock. Johnny B. had to remind me I was at work.

Back downstairs watching the Yanks/Twins game I caught a fleeting glimpse of SpecialK at the bar. I felt like she saw me, but she hid it well. Of course I didn't go over and say "hi" either. I got nervous immediately. I'm far too finnicky with that girl, I always feel like she must feel some certain way, and then I overanalyze the way I feel she must feel.

i.e. They invited me to go hiking with them last Saturday. RocknRoll, I love hiking, how could I not love hiking with her? Friday rolls around and they bump into me on the stool, where they are oddly short with me and don't invite me out for a drink. Not that they should, just that, they ALWAYS do. That is what they were doing, just out drinking. They mention nothing of the next day's hike and then they skidaddle. I of course take this to mean that either a) hiking was a vague plan that has since disintegrated, like so many plans do up here. Or b) they don't want me to go.

I slept in on Saturday, slept right through a hiking invite call.

No calls from then to now and then tonight I heard Tweetum at the bar as well. When K and I are in the same room, it is usually because T has called and invited me. I feel much closer, less finnicky around Tweetum. Probably because I'm not smitten with her. She headed for the bathroom and I barked a Hello. And she was SUPER short with me. Just a "hey, what's up?" as she walked back by.

I plopped into a chair, defeated. The beer wasn't sitting well in my stomach. The Stella was bitter, the Hoegaarden was sour, the apparent cold shoulder was... cold. I was nauseous from blowing out all the candles on all the tables, putting all the chairs up, being drunk. There was one table in the restaurant, they kept ordering wine, refusing to let poor Vickie go home. Katie headed for the door, saw me, said I looked sad. I said tired, but in truth, a little sad. She went. I sat.

And then, a shape moving behind me. Blurred but pink, it put a soft hand on me, slid an arm over my shoulder, pecked my cheek. She heard I was here, wanted to say "hi," wanted to know why I didn't go hiking.

Invited me to go Apple picking on Saturday.

For years and years and years I have wanted just the simple act of plucking an apple from a tree.

It's been oranges oranges oranges for me forever.

She was so beautiful, and delicate, and sweet. She put both of her hands on the top of my head as she walked away.

Of course, Nat will be here Saturday.

Yesterday in TJ Maxx, buying slacks for work, I got hit up for a dollar for the children. Only, I had been hit up for a dollar for the children already, only a week or two before, same store. The children don't need two dollars. It wasn't the buck anyway, it was scrawling my name on one of those little leaf-shaped construction paper things that they paper all over the place; as if the children are going to come in and read the wall like a war memorial and thank us all individually for our dollar. Of course I gave again, I'm so giving. This time though I signed it:

Austin Stevens.

Austin had been on my mind for a while with the impending debut of his new series:

Austin Stevens: Snakemaster

on Animal Planet. I've spoken of Mr. Stevens here in the past. This is the long-haired, leathery Brittish guy who spent 100+ days in a box with dozens of cobras and mambas. The same photographer/snake enthusiast who was bitten by two of the 7 Deadly Strikes of Africa in one TV special.

At the height of my Animal Planet bashing -I have MANY suggestions for channel improvement- they have again introduced a snake-based series -Venom ER, being the other- to keep me at bay.

Austin is crazy, they shoot the show with cranes and movie music, rotoscoping Matrix-shots; they make him cinematic. Above all though, he is SOoooo passionate and he wrangles the most astounding, gorgeous creatures.
Tuesdays at 8 & 11.

Also, right now I'm listening to Still Naive's full, studio album, for those that know, that's a cool thing. It came in the mail today along with an "Important Delivery" letter from TV Guide, requesting a call from me to see if I won a million dollars in their Strike It Rich IV sweepstakes.

Also, T-Minus two minutes until the first pitch of Atlanta Braves postseason baseball. Vs. Clemens and the 'Stros.

Also. Ricky Williams wants to come back to the Dolphins. Maybe he feels responsible for the 0-4 start.