It’s been quite a while since I’ve posted on here, and I miss it. I’ve gone back and forth about what I could say, yet my writer’s block is being a huge pain in my ass. I’ve already ranted to enough friends and strangers about how good Bridgerton season two is.
I could tell you about the woman who came into work and mentioned she thinks Walt Disney will be awoken from his cryogenic slumber soon or the man who viewed a fully nude photo of a woman while his wife and son sat next to him during a chamber music performance. Maybe the table of men talking about “that one stripper in Arkansas” would be a fun topic to rant on about. I could fill in the blanks with whatever wild imaginings my mind cooks up.
I will tell you I turned 28 this past Saturday. I got dinner and more than a few drinks with some people I love dearly and capped off my weekend with a rock potluck as a belated staff Christmas party. When your boss tries to convince you to learn and perform a song in front of all your co-workers you say yes, down a drink, and go give it your all under those hot, sweaty stage lights. And I did in fact lay on the ground in my old man sweater while singing Undone (The Sweater Song) by Wheezer. Best staff party I’ve ever been to in my opinion, except for the one where my friend woke up with a dead bird in her hair the morning after a staff outing years ago. Don’t worry, I won’t name anyone for the sake of anonymity.
Some people feel weird about birthdays when they come around, some feel like it’s just any other day, and some relish in all the attention and time spent with loved ones (I mean no shame when I say this). I feel lucky to have taken the time to slow down for a moment and catch up with people I hold very dear to me over cocktails and French fries. Birthdays are my excuse to spend an exorbitant amount of money at my favorite bookstores and eat and drink until my body is threatening to put me to bed for the rest of the night.
My birthday also happens to fall right before my one year work anniversary at Natalie’s. I remember sitting out on the patio on a warm-ish April day interviewing for a position Natalie was trying to not-so-subtly tell me I was overqualified for. I didn’t blame her because I think she could see it was a huge risk for me, leaving a salaried full-time job to bust my ass for tips in a restaurant. I appreciated her transparency, but I think the interview made me more determined to make it work at the time despite the rough transition I might have. This woman with her green cap and leather jacket intimidated and interested me; little did I know I’d spend many nights getting to know the woman behind the illusive idea of the “Natalie” guests are always asking about. And even more surprising to me was being welcomed into one slightly crazy, very talented, and most definitely badass family.
When occasions like birthdays come up one tends to get nostalgic and I am no exception. As I stood next to strangers who became good friends screaming the lyrics to Alanis Morrissette’s “You Oughta Know” I knew there was no place else I’d rather be. Some opportunities fall into your lap and without a little elbow grease from yourself they go nowhere. I decided from the first day I was going to see where this leap of faith took me and I never saw this coming. I never expected being surrounded by people who wholeheartedly accept me for the goofy lady I am and support all of my creative ventures with unmatched excitement. They’ve always pushed me in a good direction in more ways than any of them probably know.
I’ll probably have very few nights again where I get enough sleep to function at 100% or don’t have to deal with adults whose temper tantrums could give a toddler a run for their money, but I’ll gladly do it. I’ll do it if it means I get to work with the best people in this city and dance around after midnight whipping around a hot wing over my head because it’s too late and there’s so much left to do. At this point I’m just rambling. Anyway, this is my love letter to Natalie’s and cheers to another rotation around the sun.
The Rummy Writer 