Stop, stop; this old thing?

So since my last post, I've had a pretty crazy couple of days. Let's see: so Uncle Julio's Hacienda (which is Spanish for "The Third Circle of Hell") is finally over. I got that job in mid-March, and hated every fricking second of it until about two months ago when I really started to make some friends and warm up to the other servers there. Misery loves company, and what not. Anyway, if you had asked me three months ago how my last day at the Hacienda would go, I would have told you that I would have come in late, punched the general manager in the gut (her name is Sylvia), and set the place on fire. But instead of general assault and arson, the servers there threw me a going away party, complete with cake and ice cream, followed by shots of Jameson. I had no idea the two went so well together- made me wish my mom had served Irish whiskey at my childhood birthday parties. Well, now at least I'll know to do it when I have children.

It was really odd though. Some of the friends I've made at Uncle Julio's Tex-Mex Dungeon of Humiliation and Degredation will be people I will certainly stay in touch with, but there are others who are really, really cool people that I just know I will not see again. And that's cool. You know, when you're twenty or late teens or something, and you go on a class trip or graduate or something- you always say you will keep in touch with the people you meet. Then, a week later, one of them calls and is like, "Hey, it's Susan!" and you're like, "Susan? I don't know any Susan. Stop calling here." Anyway, this was totally different. It was really honest. People were like, "It has been great knowing you, and I wish you all the best. You'll be missed." But there was no, "We're totally gonna be BFF (that's "best friends forever" for the older readers here)." It was honest, but more than that, I guess those guys could have said, "I'll never see that guy again, why am I gonna spend my hard earned money on someone I'll never talk to again?" But they didn't. That party was one of the most generous things I think I have ever recieved. Genuine, too. Odd that people being generous and genuine is so unique. Maybe I just don't notice it enough.

Anyway, speaking of the spirit of love and generosity, I went to the French Consulate on Wednesday to find anything BUT those two great ideas. I sat there for an hour and a half waiting to hear if they would have time to squeeze me in for a visa appointment. If you have never gotten a visa, let me just say here, that I don't recommend it. This is my third now, and, well, frankly, everytime it gets more and more difficult. The visa area of the consulate is small, and cold and beige. It is filled with people who don't know you and don't want to and who are ready to step on your face to get the hell out of there and just start abusing the closest substance they can find, just so they can attempt to erase the entire experience from their memories. Sounds like Christmas dinner with the surviving members of Black Sabbath.
Anyway, the guy tells me that they stop taking appointments at 3:45 or so, so they can process all visa applications at 4pm. So I sat there, reading my magazine while babies screamed, mothers blabbed on their cell phones, students lamented waiting so long to come to the consulate. Finally, at 3:40, the visa dude calls my name and processed the application. FIVE MINUTES before the cut off point. I swear, I was so elated that I thought I was in a musical or something. I ran out of the room singing and tap-dancing.

So it's on. I have my plane tickets. I have my passport. I have my visa. I even got new pants (thank you, Mom.) All that's left to do now is sit down with my loving wife, enjoy a nice dinner and watch a Sopranos marathon (that's really what we're doing), because nothing says, "I love you and will miss you all the days we are apart" like watching New Jersey deigos slaughter eachother.

Really warms the heart.