A LOVE LETTER

Dear Over-Processed Middle-Aged Scarily Tanned Lady,

Stop coming to my restaurant. I can not stand you. The world has mistakenly told you that you and your kind are highly desirable, that looking like a scarecrow with that dried out blond hair and leathery skin is the height of beauty and sophistication. But when you step through the doors of the Restarante y Cantina, you're in a different world.My world. All of your airs and effected mannerisms mean nada. Just to let you know, I've been about a half of a step away from doing something unbelieveably disgusting to your food for some time now. But I thought I should give your middle-aged-shoved-into-teenage-girl's-clothes ass a chance to redeem youself. So below are a list of changes that you will make, effective immediately:

• You will look me in the eye everytime I speak to you or, you speak to me.
• When you do look at me, you will not act as if it pains you to do so.
• You will personally tell me your order, and not relay it through your husband even though I am standing right-the-fuck in front of you.
• You will speak to me pleasantly, not as if it the act of speaking to me is causing you physical discomfort.
• You will never again order diet coke with lemon. Ever.
• You will not ask me to break down the calorie content of anything on the menu. You will not bust out your Weight Watchers guidebook and ask me how many points the Enchiladas Mole would be worth.
• You and your four identically horrifying friends will not come during lunchtime, order one entree split four ways, drink water with lemon and stay for two hours.
• When I approach your table at any time, you and said harpies/friends will cease talking for a few moments while I do my job. You will not allow me to stand there while you continue to talk to each other and then look up in collective annoyance as if I'm bothering you when all I'm trying to do is take your damn order.
• You will tell your sad, sad clone of a teenage daughter to stop text messaging/get off her cell phone long enough for me to take her order. I know you're grooming her to be Bitch II, but you can continue those lessons elsewhere.

There is more, but I will leave you with this short list for now. I doubt you'll ever take any of this to heart, although it is in your best interest to do so. I'm expecting to see a change in your behavior next time you visit my restaurant. If not, I will #$%^@#$ in your low calorie side of salad dressing and I will %@^*$# in your glass of chablis, only after I lick all of your silverware. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Love Always,

Mujer Morena

WHY

You know that saying "just let sleeping dogs lie"? I hate that saying. Not only because I don't know of any reason to wake up a sleeping dog, but because it's...just stupid.

I've always been an answer-seeker. Inquisitive to the point of annoying, I will always try to find out the answer. To anything. This has worked well for me in school, work, and in just being an overall smartypants, but it's also done me a bit of damage. There are certain past events, certain things that have happened that have been very hard for me to move past. Yes, they were painful and traumatic, but it's not for those reasons I remain stuck. No, it's because I don't understand why they happened.

For several years, I refused to attend any family function, including holidays. I couldn't physically be in a room with people who had hurt me so deeply without regard or admittance and pretend like nothing ever happened. Eventually those people who had hurt me so long ago decided to try and make amends. They gave me a general apology for their behavior, and that was that, problem solved, make way for the rainbows and unicorns.

But that wasn't enough for me. I needed more than a blanket "I'm sorry". What about the "why"? Why did you do this to me? That answer never came, and it took me a very long time to accept that it never would.

I was talking to someone at work this evening. This person told me that everything one feels is purely a state of mind. Stress, fatigue, anger, depression - all in the mind, all easily controlled. But what about the things that happen that are beyond our control, I asked. The effects of those things, more importantly, the reasons why they happened; if we can't understand them or if we don't see a reason or they were unjust, what do we do? This person told me what I've heard time and time again: look to the future. Surround yourself with positive things and work toward your dreams, and the "why's" won't matter.

Huh.

Well, I believe there is some truth to that, but it's easier for some. I freak out if I don't finish a crossword puzzle, so it's hard for me to foresee the day when I'm content with no answer. Every day brings me a little closer, but the tunnel, at times, seems unbearably long.

EL PECHUGON, DOS

Somethings are better left alone. They may be crappy, but they've been crappy for a long time and people have grown accustomed to the crappiness. Like the Restarante y Cantina. It's been a local mainstay for many years. It's been a cozy, family place with the best Mexican food in a ten mile radius; it's been a dirty,ramshackle hole in the wall where all the winos in a five mile radius can drown their sorrows for next to nothing. Those two things have kept this place going for the better part of a decade, and now all that's a changin, gracias a El Pechugon.

He seemed cool at first. A bit of a spaz, but cool. He's been making upgrades, bringing in new furniture, tearing up the nasty-ass carpet, etc. People seem to like him. He's chilled out a bit on the hardcore craziness he wanted us to do initially, like shaking people's hands as they leave (Ms. Morena doesn't do handshakes) or singing and wearing sombreros on a customer's birthday. We didn't get out of the new uniform, though. We now have to wear Hawaiian shirts. I don't know...I mean, Ive never actually been to the Yucatan peninsula, but I assume Hawaiian attire isn't all the rage there. Please correct me if I'm wrong.

We've lost a few of our Cantina regulars, and some of the new decor smacks of a Red Robin a la Carnaval, but overall it hasn't been too bad. I was starting to think maybe the Restarante y Cantina would be worth staying at a while longer until...El Pechugon started hitting on me. (Any woman of any age who's ever worked in any restaurant for longer than 3.5 minutes knows about this all too well). At first it was all sort of vague; I thought maybe he was just trying to get to know me, like he was with everyone else. None of his comments or questions were too obvious, although they bordered on questionable. Then I found out he was married with children, and I pushed the creepy flags back down. There could be no way this man was hitting on me - I had just met his family! (After 27 years and endless weird men stories, you'd think I'd stop being so damn naive.)

Pero, I was wrong. So wrong.

JUST A JOB

I had recently decided to leave the Restarante Y Cantina, and move on to "bigger and better things." I scaled my work schedule way down, eliminating myself from the bar entirely and only serving in the dining room two to three shifts a week. I thought that the lack of work and income would motivate me to find a "real job." But it hasn't.

I've been on a few job interviews. One for a job I really wanted(but I got lost on the way and was subsequently 45 minutes late to the interview- yikes!), a couple for jobs that seemed tolerable, and one for a job that would, if I were to be hired, make my brain decompose from lack of use. I spent the duration of that particular interview trying to think of a articulate, professional way to tell the interviewers that I had made a horrible mistake in applying for that job and the thought of working there made me want to die.

I have churned out scores of resumes and cover letters to almost any ad that fits the criteria of a "real job":

• Office-like setting where I sit at a desk, answering phones while creating important spreadsheets on the computer using Excel
• Professional attire or business casual; nothing remotely resembling a uniform
• INSURANCE COVERAGE!!!
• Regular hours
• Something that I wouldn't be ashamed to admit to as a profession.

I've been thinking about a quote from Maya Angelou: "Don't make money your goal. Instead, pursue the things you love doing, and do them so well that people can't take their eyes off you."

For the past few months, I've taken that to mean that I should keep my focus on jobs that I would enjoy. But honestly? I don't know of one. I have a few ideas, but those positions require me to have a college degree, which I am still in the everlasting process of obtaining. I've been reevaluating the reasons I why I had chosen to find another job, and realized that they haven't been legitimate. Even though I know better, I still haven't completely shaken the idea that I should be " in a different place" at my age, that compared to any other 27 year old, I am stunted. My family's disappointment in what they consider to be my lack of progress doesn't help much either. I thought that if I got a different job, I'd become a different person, perhaps a more respectable individual. But I've had similar jobs in the past, and I hated all of them, so I always ended up waiting tables again.

I've been rethinking Maya Angelou's quote. Maybe pursuing what I love doing has nothing to do with the job I have,but with the life I have. I don't want to be one of those people who's identity is created solely by what they do for a living. One of the great things about restaurant work is the flexibilty of schedule, not to mention the money. Both of those things enable me to enjoy the activities that I love most as well as continue my education.

I'm not sure if I'll stay at the Restarante. El Pechugon's only just getting started. Perhaps I'll head to another restaurant. But I'm no longer in a frenzy to "find a good job." I'll continue to look, and in time it will come together. After all, it's just a job, not my life.