Saturday, March 22, 2003

I just realized more than ever what a mascot I am to drunken women, a totem of some unrealized desire, in the restaurant world. Again, with the drunken woman, again with someone I vaguely know, through mutual acquaintances, making assumptions, I guess, I assume, about me through my uniform, my role, and pretty blatantly, drunkenly asking me to go home with her. Extend my service role to her bed, her something, somehow. As if we could relate thereafter as anything other. This makes me feel so much more comfortable, not entirely, but more so, with my mad rush with the last one, to show her ME. A little too much there, but holey moley, I don't want someone who wants me because I'm some hip waiter who's going to go home and sleep with her, in whatever connotation of the phrase, because she has some ideas of me imbedded with my profession that have nothing to do with me. And that's just not someone, the type of person, I even WANT to develop a relationship with later, as if she would be able to handle me. O vey. Waiting tables is a great way to get laid, but a horrible way to go about relating to women sexually or otherwise in ANY relationship context. 1:27:42 AM