Friday, February 2,
Me with my new best friends, Cynthia and Kevin.
My first ever guest commendation - yay!
Monday, February 5,
Proof that I work in a
freaking madhouse. The girl pictured below, Brook, used to
work at New York-New York. She only worked there for about
a month, and she seemed like a nice girl but...I have to
question the mental stability of someone who would hook up with
a child molester, especially when she has a 3-year-old daughter.
Brook, please don't do this to your daughter. Pedophiles
will come and go but you only have one chance to give your
daughter a life she deserves.
The January 20, 2007 edition of National Enquirer.
Tuesday, February 6,
I was picking up dirty glass by a slot machine and I noticed
a guy at one of the machines who kept staring at my tits.
Whatever, I'm used to it. Here's the funny part. His
girlfriend walked up behind him and he didn't see her. She
said, "What are you looking at?" He kind of jumped, then
suddenly looked straight at the reels on his slot machine, at
which he had been mindlessly pushing the "spin" button. As
I walked away I heard him say, "I was just looking at her
nametag." And she said, "So, what's her name?" I
wasn't wearing my nametag. Poor guy.
Friday, February 9,
Those two words will forever be synonymous
with Brenda Schmalfeldt, my friend and co-worker, who was
brutally murdered on Saturday, January 13, 2007.
On that day, according to her killer, a man
(a transgender) named Raven Navajo, Brenda was at a bar and too
drunk to drive, so he offered to give her a ride home. On
the way they decided to stop by his house and watch a movie.
At his house he went to the bathroom while Brenda waited in his
bedroom. When he came out he caught her stealing money
from his purse. He confronted her, she got mad and tried
to walk out the front door. He knocked her down and beat
her until she stopped moving. He dragged her into his
garage and left her there. Then he put on a red negligee
and watched a movie for a few hours. After the movie, he
went to check on Brenda, and she still wasn't moving. He
put her body in the trunk of his car and left her there for a
few days because he wasn't sure what to do. In the
meantime he lived his normal transgender life, including driving
to the same bar where he had met Brenda and hanging out while
she lay dead in his car. Finally he decided to dump her
body in a dumpster. The police searched the landfill where
the contents were taken with cadaver dogs for almost a week but
still have not found her body. I'm not sure why he
confessed to killing her, but he has pled not guilty.
The events surrounding Brenda's death are
horrific and extremely bizarre. I don't believe for a
second that she tried to steal from her killer. And it's
not because I'm her friend and I think she's above and beyond
reproach. It's because it doesn't make sense. In
fact, I think he tried to steal from her. He thought she'd
be too drunk to realize what was going on and, knowing she's a
cocktail waitress (she went to the bar straight from work and
was still wearing her uniform), he assumed she would have cash
on her. Maybe she took out a wad of bills when she paid
for her drinks. He probably suggested they go to his house
and hang out for awhile, planning to rob her when she was
distracted. Maybe she was the one who went to the bathroom
and came out and caught him. And I find it hard to believe
that he put her body in that dumpster because they can't find
her body. I know a landfill is large and overwhelming and
just full of shit, but cadaver dogs are trained to sift through
all the rotten food and other disgusting crap people throw away.
How can they not find her body if it's really there? Well,
every time I've taken those tests in I, Detective I'm
always wrong, so who knows. I still don't believe what he
Knowing Brenda, it does not surprise me that
she would strike up a conversation with a total stranger and
treat them as an immediate friend. She was gregarious,
fun-loving, loud, crazy, and just plain fun. She had been
working graveyard for the last few years so I didn't see her
that often anymore, usually in the morning when I was starting
my shift and she was leaving. But she was always cheery,
in a good mood, "Hey girl! How's it going?" If there
was a party, she was there. Spontaneous and ready to go.
Funny how you remember certain things that mean nothing, like
she had about a million hair pieces. And it meant so much
to her when someone paid her a compliment. She was a
really sweet and sensitive person too. Her dogs - they
were her children. She had three of them, Tinker (a Bichon
Frise), Baby (a Pomeranian), and Sassy (a Yorkshire Terrier).
Tinker has since passed away, some say from kennel cough, some
say from a broken heart.
Her best friend was her mother, who was the reason that she
bought a house, so they could live together. She wanted to
make sure that her mother had a place to live and would always
be taken care of. That's the kind of person she was.
I love this picture of Brenda.
Shaneeka, Brenda, and Linda. Linda was our most favoritest
manager ever. She is now an instructor at the Culinary
Kari, Bernadette, Brenda, Michelle, and Melissa. Damn,
Bren...that's some boobage!
Kari, Brenda, and Denise. These poor Bo-Peeps have all
lost their sheep.
Brenda, Bruce, Bernadette, Kari, and Denise.
Bernadette, Lidia, Brenda, and Susanna.
Brenda and Bernadette, forever in our hearts.
The Bootylicious Bunch - Kristina, Robin, Kari, and Brenda.
Sweet 16 - John Travolta, eat your heart out!
The banquet room where Brenda's service was held.
Robert at the buffet.
Hey girl, here's to you.
Updated 3-17-07 - New
York-New York had a St. Patrick's Day celebration with a bagpipe
parade through the casino. At the end there was a
commemoration for Brenda and Bernadette. Here is the
video I made.
Saturday, February 10,
I had probably one of the most self-absorbed and ignorant
customers I've met in a long time. She ordered a lemonade
and asked if it came in a bottle. I said no. She
said, "Does it come in a can?" I said no. She asked,
"Does it come in small, medium, and large? Because I want
a large one." I kind of laughed and said, "We don't have
sizes, but I'll bring it in a tall glass." She said, "That
would be great." When I came back I set down a napkin on
the table and put the drink down on top of it. She took
one look at the lemonade and said, "Oh, no no no no no no...."
Then she gingerly picked up the glass with her thumb and index
finger as if she would contract mad cow disease, handed it back
to me and said, "I can't have ice." I said, "OK, drama
queen, I can see why that would be such a big deal. And
it's a good thing you used only two fingers to touch the glass
because otherwise you would have touched the ice, which, in case
you haven't noticed, is INSIDE the glass. Boy, that was a
close one." So I went back to the bar and told the
bartender, "Lemonade. No ice. For the queen of
England." This time when I set the drink down she said,
"Oh. Is this made with purified water?" I said,
"What?" She said, "I can only have purified water."
I said, "Well, I'm going to hazard a guess and say, no."
She leaned back in her chair, put her hands up and back and
turned her face slightly away from the drink. I thought
she was going to scream in fear. I swear to god she looked
like one of those cartoon elephants who had seen a mouse.
If she was wearing a tutu she would have lifted it up. She
said, "I don't want it. Take it away." Lady, my
friend fell off a cliff and died, another one was beaten to
death. Children are dying of AIDS. And you're in a
fucking casino, breathing carbon dioxide, touching E.
coli-infested chips, sitting in a chair where someone has
probably pissed on, and you can only drink purified water?
And you seriously think that lemonade from a bottle or can is
made from purified water? Get the fuck off my planet.
Sunday, February 11,
This is Ben from Irvine, CA. He walked by me, then came
back and said, "Are you that infamous cocktail waitress?"
I said, "Infamous? Hmmm...I like the sound of that."
What else could I say? The guy's like 8 feet tall.
He's actually a really cool guy. He owns a skateboard
clothing store called etnies and said he would bring Joshua and
me some stuff next time he visits, how sweet is that?
Monday, February 12,
New York-New York, the most exciting city in Las Vegas.
Friday, February 16,
Note to Mayor Oscar Goodman: We love you, we agree that
graffiti artists should have their thumbs cut off on live TV, we
think you should have your mob connections whack attention
whores who claim to have eavesdropped on phone calls with
terrorists, we even approve of educating fourth graders that
being stranded on a desert island with a bottle of gin is
preferable to a Vegas stripper any day. And we would
consider it a great personal favor if you made sure that the NBA
All Star game never, ever returned to Vegas. Signed: Every
Single Person Who Lives in Las Vegas.
Saturday, February 17,
This guy said, "I'd like a Pina Colada. What kind of
gin do you all use?" I said, "Well, a Pina Colada is a rum
drink, but we can use gin if you'd like." He thought about
it, then said, "OK, then make it with Belvedere gin." I
had to laugh a little, then said, "Well, Belvedere is a vodka,
and we don't have that." He said, "Well can you give me a
Cha-Cha then?" I laughed again, and he laughed too and
said, "I'm not doing very well, am I?" I said, "No, not
really. I think you mean a Chi-Chi, and that is a vodka
drink. We don't have Belvedere but I can give you Ketel."
He said, "Then that's what I'll have."
Sunday, February 18,
There was a group of four old ladies. Three of them
ordered water and one ordered a coffee with cream. When I
brought the drinks they were very pleasant and each lady gave me
a quarter. I wasn't too annoyed; it was par for the
course. And with the All Star crowd in town, I was happy
just to not get yelled at or shot. So when I came back
around, just to be nice, I asked them if they wanted another
drink. The old lady who had the coffee said, "I wanted
cream in my coffee. I almost burned my tongue off because
you didn't put cream in it." I said, "There's cream in
there." The other old ladies chimed in and said, "No,
can't you see it's black?" They pointed at the glass,
which has a protective black band around it. It's one of
the things that constantly amaze me, that people see the black
glass and assume the coffee is always black. Not just old,
senile, blind people. But presumably intelligent, able-visioned
people who seem in complete control of their faculties.
When you are handed a drink, usually you are looking down into
the contents of the glass. So regardless of what color the
glass is, you are looking right at the liquid contents. So
if there is cream in the coffee, the coffee will be...cream
colored. Now, what was more amusing about this situation
was that the old lady couldn't taste the cream, because she
claimed to have almost burned off her tongue. I said,
"There is cream in there, the black is just a protective band so
you won't burn your hands." The old lady picked up the
glass and held it right under my face as if I were blind, and
said, "Young lady, there is no cream in there." I sighed.
I took the glass and slowly poured some coffee out onto the
napkin, which was on her slot machine. "See?" I
said, as I held the glass in the tilted position so they could
see the creamy coffee at an angle. All four of them craned
their necks, staring at the coffee, mesmerized as if I just did
a David Copperfield. Then they all sat back slowly.
The one old lady said, "Oh. I'm sorry. We were all
saying how you must be color-blind, but I guess you were right."
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