You know you're gluten intolerant when...

• You have 5 different flavors of rice cakes in your cupboard. 
• You go through a bag of 50 corn tortillas in 2 weeks. 
• The smell of pasta makes you experience withdrawals. 
• You're jealous of someone, not because she has a hot boyfriend or a cute outfit, but because she is simply holding a cupcake in her hands.
• You're willing to spend $4.00 on a single specially-made sugar cookie. 
• You become strangely excited when someone else asks for a gluten free menu at a restaurant. 
• Nothing you bake seems to turn out right, because if it contains flour, it is programmed to work against you. 
• You stop attending dessert nights altogether because it's just pointless. 
• You consider a lactose intolerant person lucky...they're spoiled because they get a pill. I get nothing.

I love Pirates of the Caribbean.

There. I said it. 

And I've said it a thousand times before. I love Jack Sparrow. I love Will Turner. I love the soundtrack, and if you play me a clip of a Pirates song, I can most likely identify the movie and specific scene it from which it originated. I love "The Curse of the Black Pearl" (the most of course), I love "Dead Man's Chest", I love "At World's End", and I can now confidently say that I love "On Stranger Tides."

I am now even more tempted to fake a terrible head cold just so that I can be justified in curling up on my couch with some gluten free snacks and watching all four pirates movies in a row. Over and over and over again. Call me a nerd, if you'd like. I can take it. But just realize that if you and I were for some reason put against each other in a duel involving Pirates of the Caribbean Trivia - I. WOULD. WIN. Just something to consider. 

I am so good at being stressed out. Something bad happens and I shoot straight into panic mode. There is always something to be worried about, whether it's school, work, a friend...I even worry for people in books I'm reading and movies I'm watching. Not worth the energy, I tell you.

Yesterday something happened that I personally think was a legitimately stressful situation. Folks, I locked my keys in my car. I know this has happened to everyone before, so what's the big deal? I've locked my keys in the car before, once with them in the ignition. Ahem.  Unfortunately this time I needed to be in Salt Lake in a half hour.

Naturally, my first reaction upon discovering my inaccessible vehicle was tears. They came quick and they came strong. In complete annoyance with myself, I had a Dobby-the-house-elf-moment and banged my head on my car window. Bad Olivia. Then I cried some more. It eventually occurred to me that as long as I was shedding tears and banging my head in self punishment, I wasn't getting any closer to the inside of my car. So I started pacing. And pacing. And pacing. After a few very kind onlookers let me borrow their phones, I did not get a hold of Emily, but did get a hold of a locksmith who could be there in 25 minutes. Better than nothing...So I waited and paced and waited and cried and waited and paced and paced and paced. And cried. I was parked right next to a construction site, and 4 of the workers came to me with concerns that I'd broken down, hoping they could help. Such nice people.

I don't know how long it took, but eventually the locksmith showed up. He blew a little whoopee cushion up to wedge my door open, and badabing badaboom my car was unlocked in less than a minute! "That'll be $40.00 miss."

You've got to be kidding me.  

Why am I in school to be an elementary school teacher? I should really take 2 minutes to learn how to use the magic whoopee cushion and reaching stick, and then I'll be set making a golden $40.00/minute. Grrrrr. Oh well...lesson learned. Next time you get out of the car, don't throw your keys in the cupholder. I know, it seems obvious. But throw me into a situation that requires multitasking and you've immediately and inevitably got a scatterbrained little person. 

The end of the world...and clever little people

Today at work, everyone was suggesting what they would do if this really was their last 24 hours to live. "I'd spend the entire day in just my underwear." "I'd quit my job." "I'd max out all my credit cards."

I didn't realize until later that this question was being asked because a pastor somewhere out there has decided that, according to the bible, there will be an earthquake tomorrow morning at 6am Eastern time that will end the world. Hm.

After I discovered this, I went back to work for the dinner shift. My first table was an absolute joy! It was a Mom, Dad, and son (who was probably around 9 years old). The son kept going on and on about the end of the world, and I was cracking up. He said that they came to Olive Garden because it's their favorite and they wanted to go big for their last meal of their lives. At one point in the meal, I told them I was in training, and we had the following conversation:

Me: "This is actually my first dinner shift. Ever."
Woman: "You're brand new? Well you're doing pretty well considering it's your first day!"
Son: "And your last..."

HAHA!

It was so funny. And I told them I would blog about it, so here I am...blogging about it. At the end of the meal they decided to let me know that they actually wouldn't be paying, what with it being the end of the world and such. They were just such a great table. It's people like that who make being a waitress bearable. I hope they come back sometime and request me, because I would enjoy serving them again. I love the tables that turn into wonderful friendships after such a short period of time. I feel like I've really effected someone for the better, rather than just politely insisting that they empty their wallets and fill their stomachs with the same amount of food portioned to feed a rhinoceros. I promise, folks. Feeling that kind of guilt is noooo fun.

Inspiration.

Yesterday I went to Yogurtland with BJ and his 2 younger sisters (quick plug for Yogurtland...AWESOME. Although give me any Fro-Yo place and as long as they have those little bursting balls of passionfruit joy I'm happy). As I was slowly turning into an ice cube with each bite of frozen yogurt, Bryn excitedly pointed out a girl sitting behind me. People, I am NOT SMOOTH. EVER. I turned around and blatantly stared her down. She was beautiful, in workout clothes, with a few girlfriends...and was wearing 3 sweatshirts. I was jealous because she still looked darling, a feat I could never accomplish.

So who was this chick? Apparently her name is Janae. Janae blogs. 1601 people follow Janae's blog. Please, allow me to rephrase: Janae's blog has 1601 followers! And I was sitting next to her at Yogurtland. The day my blog reaches 30 followers, I will have a stroke.

If you have not already stumbled upon her blog and consequently had your life changed, please do it right now by clicking HERE. I just spent an hour reading, and I feel like she's my good friend. Bryn and I are going to attend her cycling class soon, and we're excited. Seriously guys, read her blog. NOW. It's inspiring. It's encouraging. It's happy. It's spastic. It's honest. On top of all of that, it's completely splendid.

Life at the OG

What is the OG, you may ask? A great question. It stands for the Olive Garden, which happens to be my latest restaurant of employment. Goodbye Brazilian food, hello amazing Italian (cough...GLUTEN FILLED....cough cough) food. I was recently informed that people who work there call it The OG. It makes sense, and I really want them to think I'm cool so that's what I'm going to call it, even though it sounds like a wannabe Orange County abbreviation. 

I'm smack in the middle of training week at the moment, and I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed with everything we have to learn. Please take into account the fact that the menu at Tucanos is 1 page, back and front. We're not dealing with all of this tri-fold stuff that Olive Garden seems to think is convenient. There's a lot to learn, but all things considered I think I'm catching on quickly. 

Bragging moment: today we had a contest of table numbers. I won first place with a prize of a Toblerone and two airheads. Could life get any better? I submit it can not!

So here's my uniform....sigh....

I look like a boy, luckily a handsome one. 

I've had a lot of people tell me that they're going to come in to the OG and request me to be their server. Well guys, you don't even need to do that, because I took pictures and wrote some nice little captions to go with them. So please, join me, as we travel through the wonderful world of the Olive Garden via my blog.

"Welcome to the Olive Garden!"

"My name is Olivia (as you can see by my nametag)
and I am SO HAPPY to be taking care of you today!" 

"This morning while I got dressed, I got really sad when I had to put this tie on.
Believe it or not, we did not borrow these from a Las Vegas casino."

But please don't worry because....

"...even though I'm sad and embarrassed about the tie, I will keep this smile PLASTERED on my face.
What can I get for you to drink today?!?"

"Hold on just a moment while I thoughtfully write down your order with accuracy and speed." 

"Would you like to order a glass of wine from our overly comprehensive wine selection?
If you have any questions about body, taste, or how to open a wine bottle, I will gladly inform you."

 

Well guys, I hope you liked that. I changed my mind though...if you want to come in The OG and visit me I would be so incredibly happy to see you. For reals. Come enjoy a really great Italian dining experience with the Olive Garden, because when you're here, you're family!

Hair Cut

Cut off 8 inches.
Added some blonde.
You like?
I like.