Don't Judge a Dog by Its Cover.

I figured out a new way to fall down subway steps yesterday: backwards. (Seems mundane, but I think I spiced things up nicely.) If you just let your mind wander for a second and forget to carefully place your feet on each step, you can easily manage a hefty fall that will send you tobogganning down at least four steps on your ass. This will result in: some very nice dirt stains from subway stair grime on your now-bruised ass; snickers and gasps from bystanders; extreme discomfort; and the complete loss of all dignity. (Really. Is there any suave way to recover from a fall? Whenever I trip or fall or faceplant, I can't help but keep replaying how I must've looked in the act of falling in my head over and over. And trust me--even my imagination doesn't spare me any embarrassment. I keep thinking that everyone around me who saw me fall is doing the same thing, too. It's totes hard to recover from that. I welcome friendly advice.)

In other news, I embarrassed myself at work the other day. (Bahahaaa. Did you like how I pretended like I was about to tell you something not awkward and embarrassing? Because I did. I liked it a lot.) Fio is always telling me to be more assertive with customers: don't just give in when they ask for happy hour prices at the cafe tables, tell them we can't make special meals that aren't on the menu, don't let them wheedle you into drawing up separate checks--in short, he encourages me to indulge my inner bitch whenever possible. Last week, a woman and a man who appeared to be her husband waltzed into the restaurant with a huge-ass yellow labrador retriever and plopped themselves down in a booth. Gathering my bitchy instincts, I marched over to the woman and prepared myself for confrontation.

"EXCUSE ME," I blasted at her. "You can't have a dog in here. It's a healthcode violation." I also glared at her in what I hoped was a menacing and condescending way, as if to say, What IS it about you snobby New Yorkers who think that pets need to accompany you EVERYWHERE, up to and including the toilet? Jesus.

Unfortunately, today was apparently not the day for me to be assertive. "This is a seeing-eye dog," she coldly informed me. I now noticed that the dog had one of those special harnesses on. I also noticed that her husband was holding onto both of the menus.

Even Fio was embarrassed for me. He pulled me over to the bar and stage-whispered in my ear: "She comes in here ALL THE TIME. She can't see, Rachel. How can you not have recognized her?"

Well, fine. Fine. See if I ever try to be assertive again. 'Cause you never know if somebody's gonna turn out to be blind.

The Weirdest Thing I've Done Today, Part Three.

I love coffee. I only discovered it fairly recently--when I moved to the city, actually--but I have since become an avid Starbucks fan. (And when I say "fan," I mean "snob." In the worst possible way, yes. I'm the person who gets unnecessarily frustrated when the person in front of me isn't prepared with exact change to pay for his or her order. I hate myself for this.) (And yet I also love myself for it. What can I say? I was born to be an elitist.)

So. I have two standard drinks: for cold weather, I get the grande skinny cinnamon dolce latte. For warm weather, I usually get an iced grande skinny vanilla latte. While spending a week with my fam in May, though, I was exposed to new and enticing Starbucks drink orders that I had never tried before. (Kristen, my little sister, is so much of a Starbucks pro that I want to sit at her feet, call her Sensei, and learn all that I can from her coffee-breath-laden voice.) One particular concoction invovled a chai frappuccino with soy milk and something about not using water. None of this really made any sense to me--I wasn't even entirely sure what a frappuccino was--but it tasted so delicious that I knew I'd have to start getting one on my own.

When it came time to place my order with the barista at the Starbucks I frequent on the Upper East Side, I said, as confidently as I'd whisperingly practiced on the walk from the bus stop to the Starbucks: "I'd like a grande chai frappuccino with soy milk." (Short falter and ensuing millisecond argument in Rachel's head: should I say the confusing part about the no water? Should I risk it? What if she asks me what I mean? Should I make shit up? Is it going to actually taste that horribly if I just let her put the imaginary water in? What should I do?)

"And...no water."

Naturally, the barista has no idea what this means.

"No water? It's not made with water."

"Yeah." (Sheepish grin/refusal to actually say that I don't know what I'm ordering/attempt to look cool via indifference.)

"So...what do you mean?"

(Panic, naturally. Must. Look. Cool. Say the only thing that can get you out of this situation gracefully. Your Starbucks snobbery must not be upended!)

(Titter beguilingly.) "Oh...you see, this drink order is for a friend. I'm just saying what she told me to get. I don't even know!" (Titter again.)

(Barista smiles knowingly. I have fooled no one.)



Now, really. Really? Really, Rachel? Did you need to LIE to the Starbucks barista just to save face?

Well...yes.

Why. Am. I. So. AWKWARD?

The Weirdest Thing I've Done Today:

So, in addition to my job as a waitress, I also work the front desk at a downtown dance studio, signing people into class. Whenever we get new students who have never taken class before, we have them fill out a new student registration form that also has a liability waiver on the back for them to sign. The following is a record of an actual conversation that just happened between myself and a new student a few minutes ago.


Older gentleman with slight accent (gesturing to liability waiver): "Eh, and what is this?

Rachel (cheerfully): "Oh, it's just a waiver that you sign for us, basically stating that you can't sue us if you break your leg."

[Older gentleman looks at Rachel oddly. Rachel realizes that what she just said may have sounded...odd...and reconsiders her choice of words.]

Rachel: "I mean, not that you're going to break your leg or anything."

[Rachel's brain makes the quick assessment that she cannot actually guarantee this as fact and decides that the leg-breaking option must be revisited.]

Rachel (hurriedly): "Well. You might."

[Older gentleman continues to stare at Rachel oddly. Rachel attempts to rectify the conversation. Naturally, she fails.]

Rachel: "You could. It's a small chance. But you could break your leg. Or something. Just...be aware."

[More odd looks. Rachel smiles brightly, as if this entire conversation has just been a figment of his imagination. Gentleman leaves.]




 I am so dumb. I am really dumb. Fo' real.

The Weirdest Thing I've Done Today.

So, I think I'm going to start a new and possibly recurring thing with this bloggy-blog called The Weirdest Thing I've Done Today. It might be better for my self-esteem if I just choose the weirdest, most awkward thing I've done all day and recount that single episode, rather than telling all of the awkward things I do in a mere twenty-four hours.

So let's start with today. Since the super-weird thing I did today actually prompted this blog idea. I was in a restaurant bathroom, attempting to close the stall door so that I could concentrate every fiber of my being on peeing. (I have a problem peeing in foreign places. The problem...is that I can't. I have to turn the water on full blast, count to ten, give myself a pep talk, squeeze my eyes shut--sometimes all at once. It's a very big inconvienence. Lemme tell ya.) (But lemme also remind myself that I'M ONLY RECOUNTING ONE WEIRD THING A DAY NOW. Rachel. Jeez.)

So I'm in the stall, fiddling quite a bit with the lock, because it won't fit nicely into the slot it's supposed to slide into. (That's what she said...?) After possibly a minute of frustrated attention, I suddenly find myself whispering--without forethought--to the lock. Now, this in itself is weird. But not really Rachel-weird. I mean, let's be honest. Ever since I moved to the city, it's like my weirdness is on the crack cocaine. I think it has something to do with the other weirdos here. They make me feel better about my own awkwardness. Which, in turn, encourages me to just let loose. Because I reassure myself that I'll never be as weird as them. But I digress. (Duh.)

The weirdest part of all of this is that I chose to quote a movie without even THINKING about it. I mean, that's weird, right? In a cool sort of way? It's equivalent to thinking in another language, right? Right?

I suppose it is decidedly less cool when I reveal that I was actually quoting a line from My Fair Lady ("C'mon, Dover...c'mon, Dover..."), but still. (I was whispering it, too. Just like Eliza.) Still.

Still.