Fatherly Advice

I'm home in Spokane for my 'weekend' off, taking a much needed and long overdue break from trying to be a real, live and responsible adult. After a short five hours, I got home and just finally felt...relaxed. I've been so stressed out (see my last blog entry) as of late that I realized, upon entering the familiar warmth and comfort of my parents' house, I haven't taken a good, long breather.

After tucking into a good dinner, the family sat around the TV watching (God forbid) the CMAs (I know one person of all my Portland people who listens to country. I love her to death but I just can't do country). During one of about a million commercial breaks, my dad turned to me and asked me about my writing jobs.

"I've only got one, dad."

"Oh."

"But I'm looking. Always looking."

And here's where my dad, who usually offers such sage and logical advice, suggested to me something that I never thought I'd hear come out of his mouth.

"Well, why don't you get a job as a cocktail waitress?"

Granted, trying to get a job as a cocktail waitress isn't a bad idea. After all, I have my Oregon food handler's card even though I've never worked in a restaurant. Waitresses can make pretty decent money and I would definitely love the influx of cash tips (as would my baristas who I have been tipping less). I could work evenings as a waitress while keeping my day job at Pottery Barn and still continue to write for the Regence Group (and any other writing job that I stumble upon). My father's next comment is where the sage and wisdom and all-around fatherly protection falls away:

"It'd be perfect. You'd make good money and you can meet a guy."

Job recommendations and love life advice. Apparently, they go hand in hand for my father. And what's more, my father thinks it's a good idea for me to get a job where possibly intoxicated men can (and apparently to my father, hopefully will) hit on me.

Perfect.