If food be the music of love, eat on. I know, I know; that’s a terrible play on Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, but damn, I can’t even think about food right now. It’s been a really long week, especially the last few days — what with the death of my horse, Phoenix, on top of the miserable heat — and today in itself was exhausting. If you’ve never served at a restaurant before, don’t take it for granted. It can definitely be excruciating, but the money is usually worth it at the end of the day. Making over $70 in three hours sure made it worth it. The downside, though, was that I did not eat anything from the minute I woke up until the minute I got home except for a small Blizzard at Dairy Queen.
Work was great, but seeing one of my best friends was even better. We had texted last night and made fluid plans to get ice cream today, but I was so excited that they didn’t fall through. A lot of plans I try to make seem to fall through, and it gets really frustrating. But I can always count on her, even if she was feeling pretty sick today. It was, nonetheless, fantastic as always to see her.
And I got my hurs did. Yes, my hurs did. While I was waiting for my friend, I called my grandma, who owns her own hair salon, to see if she was there and free to cut my hair — or, hur, as I like to say when I feebly attempt to speak ghetto. Anyways, I did get my grandma to cut my hair, then I met up with my friend for ice cream, and then I drove home to find out that my dad was taking us to dinner.
Red Robin… yummm!! It seems to be my parents’ place of choice, and for good reason. We had an excellent server, and my burger was to die for. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t eaten anything all day, but that BBQ burger tasted amazing (and so did the two raspberry margaritas, haha!). Afterward, though, I felt, as I mentioned on the phone with Katie Poule, like a beached whale. My pooch — or food baby, whatever you want to call it — was very, very content with the evening.